All about Jack
by Lonaargh
Summary: And so begins the life of one of the most… interesting pirates this world has ever known. He is known to have sailed all of the seven seas, he has seen Davy Jones and lived to tell the tale..
1. Introduction

_A/N:  
__So, there you have it. After almost a year of absence I'm back for another story. As some of you know, I'm not really into the standard type of stories.  
This means that if you're looking for another drawling story about Jack and some random fan girl that has been sucked into the movie, heartbreaking romance or just general random Mary Sueness, you're looking at the wrong author. Ok... maybe a little heartbreaking romance, but only because I'm a sucker for candlelight and drama._

_I'm going to try something that's rather new for me, call it a little experiment. I'm not going to tell you what it is yet, but it'll be fun for me to write. I don't have much time on my hands, so updates won't be on a very regular basis.  
Anyway, this was my little introduction. I hope you enjoy my little experiment._

**1. Introduction**

Welcome to the Caribbean. Close your eyes for a moment and picture it; the warmth of the sun, a little breeze, the sound of the waves breaking on the palm tree beach, small yachts floating in a sparkling blue ocean, hotels near the beach and music blearing from the nearby disco's.

Lovely isn't it? Now, let's leave that modern day Caribbean and rewind time to something more serene, more quiet. Let's say we go back in time for about 300 years or so, the year 1655 to be precise. Seeing it?

No more cell phones, hotels or cars? Good.  
Again, welcome to the Caribbean. Smell the fresh sea air, not yet polluted by factories and cars. Seagulls scream, wind blows, the usual stuff. Nothing much of interest is happening here, yet.  
Zoom out; redirect your gaze to an island in a much colder climate. It's an familiar island, more commonly known as Great Britain.

Zoom in a little, until your gaze fixes on a great city. A great river divides the city in two. From this far off it seems majestic, wonderful and almost pretty. Let's use the great powers of storytelling and zoom in a little more. And a little bit more, until we find ourselves in one of the poorer districts the city has to offer. Suddenly the city doesn't look so majestic anymore, does it? A piercing scream sounds through the dark street.

Well, I reckon I have kept you in the dark long enough. Let me introduce you to our subject.  
His name is Mark Heron and he is yet to be born. His mother will remain anonymous for the sake of decency. I'll spare you the gory details of childbirth; it suffices to say that after a heavy struggle that took almost 24 hour little Mark Heron was born into this world.  
Unfortunately, he is born an orphan. His mother died while giving birth to him, which means that he will be left in the care of an orphanage.  
The midwife wraps the little baby in a few dirty, threadbare rags. Without showing any remorse she searches the still warm corpse of the mother, removing everything that seems of value. After all, the dead won't be needing it in the afterlife, ey?

A few hours later a small bundle is left on the stairs of the church, the harsh November wind whistling around the walls. The great wooden doors open a little and the little bundle is pulled inside.

And so begins the life of one of the most… interesting pirates this world has ever known.  
He is known to have sailed all of the seven seas, he has seen Davy Jones and lived to tell the tale, he has looked Death in the eye sockets and made a clean escape every time.

This little baby boy, known now as Mark Heron, age 7 hours, will be known as the captain of The Black Pearl. This baby boy is better known as Jack Sparrow.

And this story is all about him…


	2. Saving your Soul

**2. And so it continues****  
**_**Disclaimer: I don't own POTC, it all belongs to Disney. Don't sue and enjoy.**_

"Oh just look at the poor little mites, Samuel. It really breaks my heart to see them all alone like this." A large woman bustles through the long corridor, her hands clasped to her rather voluptuous bosom. Her husband, a fragile looking man with thinning black hair and a very noticeable nose, trails after her: "Yes dear, very sad." He mumbles, keeping his eyes on the tiled floor before him.

The woman barely notices the man's presence and keeps on walking, a heavy scent of perfume wafting behind her. Lined up against the entire length of the corridor are small children. None of them older than 10 years, none of them very healthy and none of them certain about what the future will bring. Apart from beatings, chores and general unpleasantness. Nobody here is singing happy songs about tomorrow and how they love tomorrow. They feel that everything that is only a day away isn't worth loving. We'd much rather have something to love today, thank you very much.

The couple are in a serious conversation with the headmaster of the orphanage now, giving us the chance to examine one little boy a bit further. He's skinny, dirty and pale. His greasy, dark hair is too long and unkempt. But despite the meager conditions in which he lives, his eyes burn bright with intelligence. An intelligence which he's displaying every day in his little "schemes", as the headmaster likes to say. Coincidence has it that he is trying to convince his friends about a profitable little plan he has. Profitable for him, that is.

"No, seriously. I can make this work. All I need from you blokes is a very small portion of your supper. It'll lure it out for sure."  
"Oh come on now Mark. You don't seriously expect us to believe that the boogeyman lives underneath your bed, do you? That's simply bullocks!" Ah yes, I suppose you've all guessed by now that the little boy with the plan is our very own Mark Heron. The boy talking back to him is known as Peter Twan. Peter has been a frequent victim… sorry… _customer_ of Mark's, and he has learned to be more than just a little suspicious when Mark says "I can make this work".

Mark scowls at the older boy; "And how do you know for sure Petey? Do you have any proof that he doesn't exist?"  
Peter smirks: "Of course not, dummy. How can I have proof of something that isn't even there?"  
Mark raises his finger victoriously: "Ah! But I can proof that he does exist! And like I said before, all I need for that is just about one tenth of your supper rations tonight."

Unfortunately we will never know if his little plan will succeed, because the headmaster suddenly looms over their heads. "Master Heron, come this way. These nice people have decided to take you into their home."

The boy knows better than answering or questioning the headmaster, his ears are still ringing from the last witty remark he made yesterday. He simply nods and gathers what small belongings he has in a simple bag. Looking sad and downcast he slowly walks towards the big doors of the orphanage. He can't say goodbye to his friends, he isn't allowed to take more with him then two sets of clothes and one pair of shoes. But secretly tucked away in his pocket he keeps his only treasure: a small coin that was found on him when he was only a little baby.

Apparently this is something vital for all small orphan children everywhere; a little keepsake to torment them for the rest of their life, staring at random little trinkets and dreaming about their parents. Must be some universal rule somewhere. These rules are more common than you might think.

The couple is waiting for him inside a coach in front of the orphanage. The big lady is beaming with pride and joy, and she quickly ushers him inside the coach. The man appears to be enthralled by a small book and doesn't even look up to greet the boy.

Mark sits down opposite of the wealthy pair, staring around him in amazement. He has never seen so much luxury in his life, short as it may be. The woman chuckles heartily: "Now, now dear. Don't be rude. Introduce yourself to us."  
The boy's mouth opens and closes a few times, but finally he manages to squeak: "Mark Heron ma'am"  
"Well, Mark Heron, we're Mister and Mrs. Porter. And I hope you don't mind, but we wanted to save a little soul and take it into our home." Her eyes are glazing over a little, as if she's looking into a fantasy nobody else can see. It probably contains rainbows, unicorns and happy little boys skipping along.

Suddenly tears spring into the eyes of the little boy and he begins bawling uncontrollably. The shocked Mrs. Porter stares at Mark, not quite sure what to do next. Even Mister Porter puts his book aside, momentarily distracted by the upset child.  
"What's wrong dear?" Mrs. Porter asks, awkwardly patting Mark on the head.  
Still howling, constantly wiping his runny nose on his sleeve, Mark tries to tell what upsets him so much. Finally, after much soothing and soaked handkerchiefs the big problem finally comes out.  
"Oh ma'am, I'm so sorry. You'll have to bring me back!"  
"Back? But why?"  
"You wanted to save a little soul, but the priest said that the souls of bad boys go to hell... and I've been a bad boy last week. You see, little Jason had this ball he found somewhere and we aren't supposed to have any toys that weren't really given to us and so I went and told the headmaster but he was mad at me because I was a snitch he said and then…"

Mrs. Porter begins to laugh and shakes her head "Oh, you poor little thing. Don't worry; your soul is still intact. And now we're off to our house, where we'll give you a proper education so you'll have a chance in life!" Mark blinks. He wasn't aware up till now that he didn't have a chance in life already. How could anyone NOT have a chance? You had the chance to fall down the stairs, to find a penny on the streets. Loads of chances.

He was soon to find out that Mrs. Porter is one of those people who like to see themselves as people who can make all the evil and bad things in the world magically disappear by waving their money.  
It works, up to a point. Mrs. Porter herself certainly feels better after her good deed.

Little did she know that Mark was more then she could handle when he would grow up. And I'm not just talking about puberty.


	3. My name? Jack Sparrow

**Chapter 3: My name? Jack Sparrow**

_**Disclaimer: I don't own POTC, it all belongs to Disney. Don't sue and enjoy**_

And so begins Mark's life at the Porters home. It quickly became apparent that little Mark was an intelligent boy, he learned how to read and calculate from Mister Porter and he learned his etiquette and social behavior from Mrs. Porter. He has learned how to speak French, Dutch and Spanish.

Mister Porter takes him to the docks every week, showing him the importance of trade and economics. For example, it's very important that a lot of money goes to your pocket and not in the pocket of your neighbor. To achieve this one could tell other people that your wares are much better then those of your neighbor. One could even go as far as smashing ones neighbor's wares. But, of course, this is heavily frowned upon. So one should make sure one isn't caught. Does one get this? Good. One shouldn't tell Mrs. Porter about this. Or one might get into a lot of trouble. Good, now let's go home, supper is getting cold.

Mister Samuel Porter, quiet and boring as he always seems , made his fortune in a not so quiet or boring way. His wife doesn't know this, but Samuel is somewhat of a con man. He doesn't see himself like that of course, he prefers to call it 'Teaching people how stupid they are'. His life is based on the thought that everybody is trying to rip off everybody else, he is just better at it than most people.

And little Mark picks it up as he goes along. After only 5 years under the care of Mister en Mrs. Porter he has evolved into a cunning pickpocket. He has also made some new friends. Young, rowdy boys, about the same age as Mark is.

But as Mark gets into puberty, his behavior could use some improvement.

"Mark! Stop it, right now"  
"Stop what?" Mark looks around innocently, his hands clasped behind his back."You know very well what I mean, young man! Now put that handkerchief back in my purse this instant! I've told you time and time again that I don't like that game of yours"  
"Ah, but it isn't a game. If it was a game I would've stopped playing it a long time ago because I'm not really a child anymore. And I don't have your handkerchief Mrs. Porter"

Mrs. Porter huffs. Mark has this tendency to explain things in such a manner that it sounds right. Until the feeling that something is wrong creeps up on you, but by the time that happens Mark is long gone.

"Just put it back child, go outside if you've done all your chores. I'm having a terrible headache and I really can't put up with all your nonsense." She pinches the bridge of her nose and squints a little. She thinks it's an expression of pain and fatigue, but somehow it always reminded Mark of someone with terrible constipation. Muttering a bit under her breath, she shuffles away to her bedroom.

Mark shrugs and walks out into the streets, where he is met with one of his friends.  
"So, you didn't get it then?" a small boy asks him, struggling to keep up with Mark's fast tread.  
"Depends on what you mean by 'it'. If you mean, did I get her handkerchief, then no.. I didn't get that." Mark tells him, mischief twinkling in his eyes.  
The little boy, better known as Jason, sighs: "I guess that means Hugo will be plenty cross with us then. He almost smacked me head last time I messed up, he did"  
"Ah, but he won't be doing that this time my friend. Because I might not have gotten her kerchief, I have something better"  
"Something better"  
"And bigger"  
"Bigger"  
"Yes"  
"Oh."

The couple jogs on, through the narrow alleys that are everywhere in the city. Jason is chewing on his lip in thought. After a short while he frowns and looks at Mark.  
"What did you get then? What is better and bigger"  
Mark flashes a smile.  
"You'll see. Just wait and see."

Eventually they reach a small and seemingly abandoned house. Well, for want of a better word it's called house. The door is hanging half off its hinges, the windows are all smashed, stray dogs are wandering in and out of the place and it smells like... like... well, there isn't a word for that smell yet, either.

The friends step inside the house, trying to breathe through their nose as much as possible.  
"Oi! Lads! You here?" Mark hollers, making his way up the rickety stairs.  
"Yeah, yeah. Just come on up you two. You know the way." A bored and high toned voice calls out from upstairs.

Mark leans against the doorframe and grins at the chubby boy who's sitting in the middle of the room.  
"Well, Hugo. Fancy meeting you here, how are you doing these days"  
The fat boy rolls his eyes, disgusted by the lack of respect that radiates from Mark. Insofar respect can radiate that is. I mean... have you ever said about someone: "Now THERE'S a guy that's radiating a lot". No? Neither have I.

"Shut it Mark, you know I'm always here you idiot. So it isn't a fancy to meet me here. And I'm doing bad, and that's because of you and yer little friend. You haven't brought me anything decent the last couple of days. So spit it out, what have you got?" the boy snarls.

Mark grins even more and strolls into the room, Jason trying to hide behind him.  
"Well, Hugo. What I've got isn't as important as what you're willing to trade for it. So tell me, what do you have for me"  
For a moment Hugo is confused, this isn't the way it's supposed to go. The boys that come here are the groveling, weeping kind. They are happy with whatever they get from him, whether that's an old loaf of bread or a pat on the head, that doesn't matter. Then he rallies.  
"You're lucky I ain't murdering you right here and now Jacky boy, I've told you before and I'll tell you again! You're mine!"

Mark frowns. "My name isn't Jack. It's Mark. You should find someone to talk about that slipping memory of yours"  
Hugo glares at Mark. "I'll call you Jack if I like. You are mine. Don't forget it. I'd call you Fido if the fancy took me that way! If you ever cross me, I'll make you regret the day you were born! Now, show me what you've got for me"

Winking at Jason, Mark reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little box. He makes a show of polishing it a little with his sleeve before presenting it to Hugo. But when Hugo tries to grab it with his greedy fingers, Mark quickly snatches it back.  
"First my compensation. What's in it for me?"  
As you can see, Mark has learned a lot from his swindling stepfather.

Hugo glares at Mark and spits on the ground.  
"Do you think I'm stupid? I ain't giving you nothing before I've seen what's in that there pretty box"  
"Ah, but I'm not giving you that box before I know what I'm getting back. Trust me, this is a box that was in the possession of Mrs. Porter herself! And you know how she always carries her riches with her. I suggest a fair trade. I give you the box, you give me whatever you think compensates me for all the trouble I've had in obtaining this little precious gem. Think about it, a little box, left in the purse of Mrs. Porter. What could be in it except for jewelry, trinkets and other precious and expensive items? Ey?"  
Mark smiles again. Hugo remains silent, his face one of contemplation.

Shrugging again, Mark turns around.  
"Well, if you aren't interested I'll just leave. I've got myself a few more addresses I can call at."  
"No, wait! I'll give you.. two almost silver bracelets for that."  
"One real silver bracelet and that there gold ring I can see on your table."  
"Just that ring and a loaf of bread."  
Mark shakes his head.  
"No can do, one bracelet and that ring. Otherwise I'm out."  
"You're driving a hard bargain Porter, a hard bargain indeed. But we have an accord."  
Hugo spits in his hand and holds it out to Mark, who just stares at it in disgust.

"Can't we just do it without the spitting part? It's rather disgusting really."  
Hugo growls, but hands over a bracelet and the ring. Mark throws the little box to him and makes a little bow before hurrying downstairs again. Hugo catches the box and carefully caresses the lid, listening to Mark's footstep running down the stairs.

Suddenly an overwhelming feeling of dread flushes over him. He wouldn't... would he? He isn't that stupid, for sure?  
Hugo frowns. He has known Mark for over 3 years now, and he knows Mark cán be that stupid. Although Mark himself wouldn't call it stupidity. He would call it ingenuity with just a little twist. Hugo opens the lid and looks inside the box. There are no jewels in the box, no trinkets and no precious gems. Shouting with rage Hugo throws the box across the room, the pebbles that were inside the little box are flying everywhere.

"Duncan! Bruno! Come here! It's time we taught that little brat a lesson he won't soon forget."

Mark heads back home a couple hours later. But even from a few blocks away he can see the big black smoke clouds above the roofs. He quickly runs towards the place he has been calling home for 5 years, he slows down when he reaches the building. Everything is ablaze. As in a dream he can hear some bystanders talking. No survivors, Mrs. Porter jumped down from her bedroomwindow, broke her neck. Mr. Porter nowhere to be found. Everything is hazy, nothing seems to make sense. But there is one thing that is clear in Mark's vision. The words "you are mine" scribbled with black soot across the quickly blackening wall.

There are no tears, no childish feelings. For the first time in his life he feels truly alone, but also truly free. He loved the Porters, but now he has to take care of himself. No one to yell at him, no one to scoff at him. He is free like a bird. But first... revenge.

Night falls and ends. Morning is coming, shyly lighting up a new day. Mark stands in a park, staring at a little bird.  
A caring woman sees Mark standing there so forlorn. "Are you alright sonny? What's your name?"  
At first, Mark doesn't seem to hear her. Then he turns around slowly and looks at her.

"My name?" he whispers, "My name is Jack." A quick glance at the bird. "Jack Sparrow, ma'am."


End file.
